2020-03-18 - Bar Talk, Interrupted

This isn't tourist season, so it's mostly regulars tonight - those who like to think they're too good for the Pourhouse, or those - like Alexander - who aren't really welcome at the working man's pub for various reason. Like sort of inciting a bar fight that left someone in a coma. Things like that. ANYWAY. Alexander is here, is the point, dressed like a hobo, and smudged with dirt and a few leaves here and there, like he's just come in from playing around in the dirt. Most of the others are giving him a wide berth, which means he's gotten to claim a table for himself with a nice view of the deck, and has a heavy backpack in a chair next to him. And a smaller map of the woods and its trails spread out before him. "...the fuck did she go..." he's muttering to himself. One part of the forest has been circled in red.

James is, for one, not too good for any place that concerns itself mainly with the serving of alcoholic beverages. But considering he was at the Pourhouse the other night and had to leave when things got Glimmery, he's off to the other pub, in hopes there will just be the usual amount of Gray Harbor weird and not any extras. As always, jeans and a hoodie are the order of the day, his hoodie this evening showing Captain Crunch smiling with the caption 'Stay Crunchy'. Over all this splendor, his usual ill-fitting woolen coat, conveniently enchanted. He pauses as he steps inside, doing a quick scan for ghouls or goblins (or gnomes, because that's a thing in this damn town apparently).

August wanders in, a little scuffed and dirty from a day of work; there's a nice grass stain on his dark blue, waffle Henley, a little dirt on his black and white flannel, and some mud on the he, of his denim jeans. His heavy hikers have been rinsed but will need a proper washing. He shrugs out of his pea coat, heads to the bar for a black and tan. He's about to sit there when he sees Alexander looking like he just did a good day's work for August's shop, and opts to wander to that table instead, grabbing a waitress to order some tots on the way there.

"Hey you," he says, pausing in front of a chair. "You look like you had a fun day." 'Fun', his tone says, in the Gray Harbor sense.

Tobin doesn't start up work again with the boat tours until memorial day, and so he is still in the doldrums of the off season. And so he sits up at the bar. He already has a bottle of beer in front of him and seems to have been nursing it for a bit at this point in time. There's also a plate that perhaps had some food on it at one point, but now bears only a few crumbs. He's idly watching the waves out the window, and occasionally glancing toward the door as people come and go, though he doesn't appear to be waiting for anyone in particular.

He's certainly a regular, is Joe, even if he condescends to the Pourhouse on occasion. But the sailor's definitely happier for somewhere where he can keep an eye on the docks. Cold enough out that he's in his greatcoat and watch cap, the white silk scarf wound around his throat. The cap's brim is mercifully bare of ridiculous patches....perhaps to spare the dignity of the cop who shoulders in behind Joe. He's in the middle of a story, it's clear. "......well, you know I can take a lot of insults and keep on grinnin', but.....for that one, I had to punch him. Which was a bad decision, because they cast those Spetz motherfuckers out of concrete. Busted my knuckles, amused him. We kept drinkin' until we forgot what we were arguin' about. They're good like that. Though I gotta admit, I honestly wasn't sure where the fuck I was when I woke up next mornin'..."

Alexander doesn't notice the various familiar faces at first, focused as he is on the map. But when August comes to stand near the chair, he cringes preemptively, only to smile when he looks up and recognizes the voice. "August. Hello." He runs one hand through his hair, and his smile turns sharp. "It wasn't actually fun at all," he says, solemnly. "Sit down? Have a drink with me." He folds the map. He does have a beer, although the bottle doesn't look like it's been touched since it was delivered. And he recognizes a few other folk, so they're given tentative little waves as he notes each of them.

You know who doesn't have a drink yet? James. Aiming to fix that, he starts making his way towards the bar, catching Alexander's wave and giving one of those little 'sup nods, then pointing at the bar and miming drinking. Just in case Alexander thought James was heading to the bar for some other reason. Upon arrival, he flags down the bartender, ordering a Dark and Stormy, and plops his skinny butt on a stool to wait for his drink. Noticing Tobin there, he gives a casual smile. "Yo. How goes the drinking?"

"I'm surprised your liver still fucking works, the rate you've been going," mutters said cop, half a step behind Joe, and a couple few inches shorter than the rangy sailor. Ruiz's cigarette is discarded just before he shoulders his way inside, obliterated with the heel of his boot, and what's left of its smoke expelled through his nose and half-parted lips. "You find us a spot to sit, I'll go grab us some drinks." Knuckles to the blond's shoulder, he veers off for the bar. The captain's in his usual dark jeans, tee shirt and battered leather jacket, and moves with the tiniest bit of a limp in his left leg as he bellies up to the counter. "Tequila and a Four Horsemen," is his low murmur to the 'tender. Has he spotted August and Alexander yet? Likely not.

Cristobal lopes out of the bathrooms, still drying his hands on his low slung jeans because those thin paper towels or electric hand driers never quite seem to do the trick, do they? He gives a yank to his buffalo plaid flannel, pulling it back up over his shoulder and white tank top, heading back by the bar to reclaim his light colored beer that has a wedge of lime floating in the suds and a red chili looking powder around the rim of his glass. "Hey hey, gang's all here." Well, not all the gang, but it's a loose interpretation of gang. Just people he happens to recognize as he turns around and leans an elbow onto the bar, a dark sort of amusement in his eyes. "You alright there, Cap?" Noticing Ruiz' limp.

August pulls out the chair to have a seat, drawls, "You don't say?" and follows it with a tight smile. "But thank you, don't mind if I do." He sets his coat on the back, settles in and sips from his black and tan. "I ordered some tots, too." Joe and Ruiz's voices carry to him, and he waves at them and Cristobal, nods at Tobin and James.

"So." He eyes the now-folded map, plainly curious. "What were you up to?"

Tobin gives a nod to James as he settles in nearby and says, "Successful so far," lifting his mostly empty bottle in James' direction in both a salute and demonstration that the drinking has, in fact, been occurring thus far. He doesn't seem buzzed, however, so it's likely his first one. "Ready for spring and to get back to work. How are you doing?" He leans forward on the bar, arms folded in front of him, glancing over to watch as the place gains a few more patrons, recognizing some of them. He gives a nod in August's direction as well, in greeting.

"I've trained it to a high level of tolerance," Joe says, affably. He's got a little rust in his joints, too, by the look of things. "Gotta keep it up or it'll get slack." Like it's a racehorse. He snags them a table, doesn't bother to disgree with the choice of drink for him. August and Alexander get a wave, and Cristobal a grin, as he's shrugging out of coat and scarf. Only in t-shirt and jeans, and it's a plain t-shirt in pale gray, not the ridiculous green one he was wearing at the Pourhouse's party. .....which does nothing at all to conceal the fading bruise on his throat.

"Cruz," greets the other, far swarthier Mexican at the bar, after flicking a couple of crumpled bills onto the counter to pay for the drinks. He flashes the bartender a slight smile once he seems to remember that it's a thing people do, and flicks his dark eyes Cris's way for a slow up-and-down. "Como diablos estas, novio?" His tequila's sipped from, glass tilted to his mouth without him taking his eyes off the other man. And he does, eventually, spot August and Alexander over there, and give them a wink. Since his hands are busy, obviously.

Alexander watches the people at the bar with that reptilian look he gets when he's thinking, absently rubbing at a smudge of dirt under one eye as August sits down. A nod of greeting and the ghost of a pleased smile at Ruiz's wink. His attention transfers to August when the other man's taken his seat. "Tots sound good." A glance at the map. "Went over to the other sawmill with a bunch of the Addingtons. And Anne. Except she didn't come over. Not answering her phone. Couldn't find her in the woods; got too dark to find a body reliably." There's an unwavering practicality about that. "What about you? Are you okay?"

James shrugs at Tobin. "Oh y'know, livin' that glamorous writer's life, quietly wondering to myself every morning why I don't just burn the house down and run, working on the book with Diana. The usual." And then his drink is delivered, and James slaps a few bills on the bar to pay for it and leave a generous tip. "And now, getting drunk. Important part of the writing process, can't be skipped."

Cristobal slides a sly look away to the table that Joseph has claimed, his top lip lifting in that half smirk, half sneer he gets when he's inappropriately humored by something. "Mejor que tu chico por el aspecto de las cosas. Y tu cadera. Envejecer apesta, ¿no es amigo?" He pushes off his lean, dragging his beer with him. His ambling gait draws him nearer the others, but it's August he's going to clamp on the shoulder first. "Looks like it's almost planting season, doesn't it?"

August smiles at Ruiz and Joe, pauses a moment as he spies what seems? to be a bruise on Joe's neck.

But what Alexander says gives August one hell of a record scratch moment. He stares at Alexander, still with surprise. "I--shit. Have you tried to find her? I mean, with..." He gestures at him, as if to say 'you know, that way people like you can do that'. "That whole area's felt dangerous as hell, are you okay?" He pauses, pulls a face, "I mean..." He grimaces. "Relatively." Because no one is okay in Gray Harbor. Not really.

The clap on his shoulder has him glancing up at Cristobal. "Yeah. Really, you can start now, there's some things that don't mind a start in frozen ground."

It takes him a little to parse the byplay in Spanish, and the smile fades a hair on the sailor's face. But then Joe's really tuning in to the conversation about the sawmill, and it's gone entirely. Making no secret that he's eavesdropping....and looking as if he really would like a cigarette. No comment, though, on his own inadvertent expedition of a few weeks ago.

Alexander gives August a look. "Yes. I tried to find her. Couldn't." He reaches for the beer and takes a swig. "She might have just gone home and turned off her phone." Does he believe that? No. Clearly not. But its a thing to say. "I'm fine. Over there is filled with the shattered ghosts of my genetic ancestors, who want me to kill myself so that they can go to rest. But it's fine. I'm fine." His voice is dull. A glance up as Cristobal approaches and claps the botanist on the shoulder. "Hello, Mister Cruz. Are you well?"

His hip? There's a slightly puzzled look from de la Vega as he gazes after Cris. Doesn't bother to try to correct him, though, on any of his suppositions. Nor does that look the guy gave him ruffle his feathers any. He simply runs his tongue along his teeth in that way he does when he's cogitating on something, then ambles over to the table Joe's picked. His companion's drink is slid over, and then he settles in with a soft creak of his chair, knees splayed, phone immediately dug for in his pocket. "You like those, right?" He means the drink, probably. A flick of his eyes to August, then Alexander, then back to his phone. He could invite them over.. or he could just be a hermit over here.

"I'm not going to lie," Tobin says to James with a somewhat crooked smile, "I did wonder a little bit why we didn't just raze it to the ground when we were there last time." He reaches over though and claps him on the shoulder lightly, giving it a friendly squeeze and then picking up his beer again. "We'll get it cleaned out and then you can do what you want with it -- sell it off, find a place that you like, whatever." He chuckles, "I've heard that's an important part of being a writer. Glad to see you're taking it seriously." He only sort of catches the tail end of Alexander's conversation, and takes another long swig from his bottle of beer.

Cristobal spins out a chair, inviting himself to both tables by way of leaving it in a somewhat neutral position to them both, but slightly cheated towards the one that the Sailor and the Cop occupy. "Good, because I have Plans." The way Cristobal speaks of his plot of land, the P is definitely capitalized. He pushes through his cowboy boot heels, tilting his chair backwards a bit, "Mister Clayton. Doing better than whoever you're talking about, apparently." His tongue flicks the rim of his beer, getting some of the chili powder off of it before taking a swig of beer. "If you've been by the Platinum, the girls forgot to give your tamarind."

August returns that look. "If that was all, you should still have been able to find her with your ability once you were close enough to her." He swallows, since of course, the first thing he's thinking of is Portland, and how they were sucked into a Dream when they tried to cross. Anne could be in one right now.

Fortunately, the next thing Alexander says prevents August from making up one hundred nightmare scenarios for Anne and how he was going to heal her if she survived and no one was going to stop him (well, maybe Anne herself). He blinks. A few times. "Ah. Wow." He rubs at his eyes. "Look, it's fine if you're not okay. I wouldn't be, if I crossed over and the souls of the Roens and di Moise's were all up in my face, telling me to kill myself. I'd be pretty fucking unhappy."

To that end, he takes up his beer and points the glass at James. "Very important," he agress, and has a drink. Anne's missing and dead Baxter souls are infesting the saw mill. Just another day ending in y. "What sort of plans? Flowers? Food? Both, neither?"

James chuckles and takes a long sip of his drink. "Well, Lilith wanted to rescue what she can, figures we can make some real money. And I definitely want to sell that place soon as I can, it's the reason I came back to this godsforsaken town in the first place.", he says, then pauses. "Tho I suppose my original plan of leaving again as soon as I sell the place won't work anymore." Hearing August call out to him in agreement, he grins and lifts his drink in the man's direction before taking another long sip.

"Yeah, thanks," agrees Joe. One of those awful rocket-fuel concoctions he drinks, though he seems disposed to nurse it, for the moment. A glance at Ruiz, as if he's the one to invite others over to their table. Still clearly eavesdropping....and going all the paler, for realizing how much of a bullet he dodged (figuratively if not literally) beyond the Veil by the sawmill.

"I know that, August," Alexander points out. He takes another drink of his beer. A shrug at the state of his okayness or lack thereof, although he does smile at Cristobal's contribution. It's only the ghost of a smile, but it actually reaches all the way to his eyes, warming them. "I haven't been back there. Haven't had any business there," he admits, quietly. "But thank you for making candy for me. I'll pick it up. I'm looking forward to trying it." He glances over at Joe and Ruiz's table, shifts a little before saying. "You could sit with us. If you wanted."

"Ahhh..." Cristobal blinks to August, trying to get his brain back on track. "Mostly flowers, though I want to see if I can get a decent pepper to grow - do you guys really just sit around talking about this shit in public?" The thoughts just seem to run together and get blurted out. He's baffled, intrigued, and tugging his seat closer to Alexander and August as if drawn to the conversation that he obviously is SO out of his depth in.

Tobin nods his head to James and says, "Well, we'll get it cleaned out, ready to sell, and Lilith can handle figuring out what she can get you for all the stuff in it, and then, at least, you can make a choice from there over what you want to do next." He's quiet for a bit as he considers the bottle in front of him, clearly lost a bit in his own thoughts. "I've been considering where I'd go if I finally left this place."

"Nah, no choice. Stuck here. I mean, this is the only place my crazy works, innit?", James murmurs back to Tobin, with a shrug. "Anywhere else, I'd end up in the loony bin within a week. Also, y'know. Diana's here. Someone's got to keep her alive.", he adds, with a slight smile. Tobin's last words do cause his smile to fade a bit. "Well, most anywhere's gotta be better. Assuming this damn place lets you go."

"Yeah, I know you know, I'm just freaking out about Anne," August grouses at Alexander, toying with his glass. Well, at least he doesn't have to tell Isabella, so there's that.

He huffs a laugh at Critobal. "Anyone who doesn't know about it won't believe us, or they'll think we're talking about a movie or a game or...something. Anyone who does, well, they've got other ways to eavesdrop on us we'd never be able to stop. So it's not worth never discussing it." Not yet, of course. Maybe some day it will be. Maybe.

He glances at Joe and Ruiz, gives them a look, transfers it to some of the other chairs at the table in a wordless gesture of 'are you two going to sit there all night'.

Alexander smiles at Cristobal. "I'm crazy. Don't know what August's excuse is. But if you don't," he flicks his fingers at Cristobal, as if trying to outline something around him, "stand out, then you wouldn't pay any attention to the conversation, except to say, 'there's a crazy person talking about crazy shit'. And then you'd probably forget it." He shrugs, nods in agreement to August. Then peers at Cristobal. "You're going to grow flowers? What kind? You don't seem like a flower growing kind of person."

Ruiz looks a little checked out, truth be told. He's nowhere near the buzz he's aiming for tonight, and people over there are talking about Serious Sounding Things that he seems disinclined to weigh in on. If even he has an opinion. He sips his drink, replies to a message on his phone, and ticks his eyes up when Alexander says something that seems like it might be aimed his way. "Could," he agrees. Glances back to Joe in time to catch the look the man sends him. Frowns a little like, what the fuck do you want me to do about it?

And then August has to go and corroborate all the nudging and hinting with yet more of it, and he grunts and climbs to his feet. "Whatever you're talking about, I don't know, and I don't fucking care," he warns him, dropping into one of the indicated chairs, and nudging the other one out for Joe.

Sparrow runs her fingers through her pale hair when she steps into the bar, shaking free some snow which promptly melts upon hitting shoulders or floor. She's got a hood, but she's not using it. Her black hoodie's currently zipped up, allowing only a pop of teal to peek out, contrasting with the bright red drawstrings which hang down the front. The jacket's pretty weird, with an assortment of white eyes tightly packed on the sleeve from wrists to elbows, a few slitted on chest or hip. Jeans, boots, a little play of corals in her make-up. It's probably the same look she's been rocking all day, through classes. She seems pretty intent on heading toward the bar, though a couple familiar voices catch her attention, slowing her progress as she considers the crowd. There might even be a smile or two in there somewhere before it's turned on full beam for the bartender as she orders her beer, paying up front. No tab tonight.

Tobin makes a somewhat non-committal noise in James' general direction as he contemplates the bottle in front of him, studying the label but not really reading it all at the same time. "Yeah, you and Diana make a good pair. I like her. Glad you found her." He does offer James a genuine smile, then, sincerely happy for him on that count. "I don't know. Maybe I'd go chase off after Raf like I should have done when he left." But James' last words linger in his head. Assuming the place lets him go.

"Evenin', y'all," Joe says, smoothly. Like he can counterbalance the cop's gruffness. Someone's got to be the social one. "Sounds like heavy shit y'all're discussin'," he says, as he sets his drink down on the table with a click of glass, before settling into the indicated chair.

Sparrow's presence has him diverted, and he grins at her. "Hey, you," he says. "I was readin' a book jus' the other day where the hero had your name. 'minded me of you." She's known to enough of the people at the table that he gestures her over without waiting to see if there's really room.

"Yeah, I guess...that works." Cristobal says, still blinking owlishly like he wants to delve deeper into it, ask more questions, but thinks better of it and just raises his beer for a deeper pull. "I'm full of fucking surprises, Clayton. Besides, they're not for me, they're for someone else." He reclines back in his chair again, twisting his torso so that his arm can be hitched on the back of it. "Heeeey, there she is." He drawls as he spies Sparrow getting her beer, whether or not he was actually expecting her to show up. "C'mon, Pajarillo, join us." He says on the tail end of Joe's invitation. If there's not a seat, Cristobal is offering the one of his thigh with a pat.

"Pretty sure she's the one who found me, bud. I wasn't even looking and then one day... boom. There she is.", James replies back to Tobin, and chuckles. "Still not entirely sure she isn't just some trick this place is playing on me, setting me up for a real haymaker of a punch. But...", he says, and his smile grows softer. "Yeah. I like her too. Her crazy makes my crazy better, and that's the best any of us can hope for." He watches Tobin brood for a moment, then chuckles. "Hey, man- wherever you go, for what it's worth, I got your back. If you can escape, make it happen, and leave no ass unkicked. Not all of us get to escape, at least, not for good."

The tots arrive (three baskets--oh yes, August was prepared), and August orders another drink for himself. "We are," he tells Joe, "and that's fine," he adds for Ruiz. He looks askance at Alexander, since that's for him to say if they stick with that topic. He leans back in his chair and sighs. "But, in case of you hadn't heard, do not go to the sawmill and cross over. Period. End of discussion." He has a drink of his black and tan, raises his eyebrows at Alexander. "Really. And if you met me would you think I'm the flower growing sort?" He smiles. "Takes all kinds." He nods at Cristobal. "So. What're you thinking. Marigolds? Something else?"

There are seats. And more can always be borrowed from other tables - although as actual table space gets tight, Alexander removes the map, folds it neatly and puts it back into the backpack, which goes under his seat. There's a nod to Ruiz as he sits down. "Okay. It's not particularly important," he says, with a shrug. His fingers nervously peel off the label on his beer, and he starts to shred it, while looking at Cristobal. At least his response brings back the smile for a moment. "That's very nice. To grow flowers for someone else." A look is given to Sparrow, then a nod. "Hello. How are you? And your brother?"

When August asks the question, he turns a slow smile on him. "Yes. I would."

"Which one?" Sparrow asks Joe of her many names, looking back with a curious cock of one dark brow. "And did they hero like a motherfucking boss?" When her beer is delivered, she croons her quiet thanks to the bartender then makes her way over to join the others, eyeing Cristobal and that invitation along the way. The particular pitch of her brows implies challenge, like she's not sure he's really up to the task. But she doesn't bother with a chair, sinking down onto that offered perch without any proper hello. Instead, her attention's on Ruiz then August, who both get nods in greeting, and Alexander, who gets a smile and an answer. "Doing alright, thank you. Busy, but that's nothing new. How about you, Alexander?"

The cop's always a bit pricklier, the more people are involved. Nerves, maybe, making his already short fuse even shorter. He finishes scrolling through a message on his phone, swipes out a reply, then shoves it away before sliding August a look. "All right. I'll fucking bite." A sip of tequila, as if to steel himself for this. "Why?" Then his glass is slid onto the table, and he grasps the brim of his cap and tugs it off before putting inked knuckles through his hair absently. Sparrow's arrival is noted with a glance that turns to something more lingering, before his attention's dragged back to his tablemates. "Hola, extraño," he murmurs to her on her arrival.

Joe's expression is transparent guilt, and he feigns interest in his drink, tapping fingertips on the glass, not looking at August. About that. But then he lifts his head, as if grateful for Sparrow's inquiry, before he spills something he shouldn't. "Sparrow," he tells her. "An' they sure did. Old SF novel called Bone Dance. I should track it down, lend it to you."

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he's knocking back that shot with dispatch. Apparently it will be an evening of serious drinking - if they're really going to discuss the Veil around that neck of the woods, he's going to need some liquid distance between himself and the memory of those dark eyes in that long skull, looking at him.

August returns Alexander's smile, slow and sly. "Okay. Maybe you would. You're usually a good judge of character, compared to some people, and I'm no James Bond." He glances up at Cristobal, back at Alexander, and bobs his eyebrows, emphasizing the 'usually' part of that when it comes to Cristobal.

He nods and raises his beer to Sparrow in a greeting, says to Ruiz, "It's ugly Over There, right now. Really dangerous." He cuts a look at Alexander, has a few tater tots. "Steer clear if you don't feel like playing Russian Roulette with the Other Side's less friendly charms."

Cristobal provides a sturdy perch, a hand going to Sparrow's hip to hitch there lightly, knee dandling once to adjust his foot beneath. Continuing on with the conversation casually, "Marigolds, sure. Sunflowers, Black-eyed Susans. Going to have to defer to you what the hell will grow up in this frozen tundra, Roen." His head tilts, hand lifting from Sparrow's side to give a bit of her hair a little tug because his other is occupied with his beer. "What kinds of flowers do you like?" Though he's still keeping a part of his attention on the more serious side of the conversation as Ruiz drives it forward.

"I am a terrible judge of character, August. But you're grounded. Hard not to realize you like growing things." Alexander slumps in his seat, eyes flicking nervously back and forth between the people at the table. "There were a bunch of the Shadows apparently waiting in the mill. Over there. The Exorcist stopped us from going. The whole place was filled with shattered spirits. They want things. The usual." He shrugs, and continues to make his beer label into neat little strips with his fingers. "We probably have more pleasant things to discuss."

He's been trying to keep his mouth shut - Joe knows, he knows his tendency to run his mouth when nervous, doubly so when drunk. But August's explanation has him saying, finally, "I tore through a few weeks ago, in the woods by the mill." Deliberately slow, reining himself in like a nervous horse, flattening his voice out, reporting dully, as if this were something that had happened to someone else.. The accent elides into something far closer to generic newscaster Midwestern. "I saw....a stag with tines of fire battling a wolf made of water. Robed figures carrying what looked like a great egg. A creature like the corpse of a bear with horns. It saw me. Rosencrantz was there, got me out of it."

"Thanks," Tobin says to James when he says that he has his back. With his beer finishes, though, he gets up from his seat and says, "I appreciate that." Then he pauses and adds. "Enjoy every happy moment you get while you have them, man." Then he slips some cash for his bill and a tip before he turns to head toward the door and back out toward Bayside.

"Bonsoir, étranger," Sparrow croons to Ruiz, dark lashes dipped low over her brown eyes. There might be a teensy hint of cockiness in the curl of her grin, pretty sure she guessed correctly at the translation of the unfamiliar word. She lingers for a moment on that heavier half of the conversation, grin dimming a bit, only to brighten further for Joe's offer. Earnestly, she tells him, "I'd like that," before amusement creeps in, and she adds, "And maybe I'll swap with you. Share something I read recently that reminded me of me, too." Her brows go up sternly as her head tips toward him when she appends, "But only if you promise not to judge." As if she cares about potential judgment. When even that side of the conversation spills into confession, her amusement sinks in full. For a moment. Until Cris' tug to her hair brings her attention toward him in full, wide-eyed and damned near accusatory. "The kind I'm not expecting," sounds almost like a question. She leans in to press a kiss just shy of his ear, a single word whispered beneath easy hearing.

Alexander? A good judge of character? Javier switches his focus to his fellow mentalist for a few moments as he contemplates that assertion. Then a little twinge at the corners of his lips and eyes whose impetus is difficult to discern. It's long gone by the time Joe speaks, and something unpleasant flits across his expression, takes residence in the brackish line of his jaw. Not anger, precisely, but something muddier. And not directed toward anyone but, perhaps, himself. He sips his drink, and persists in his silent introspection while the others discuss.

James salutes Tobin as his friend makes to leave. "Hell, I get few enough as it is. You bet your ass I'm gonna enjoy them.", he replies. "Takae care out there, 'kay?" And then he's alone at the bar, and his drink is finished, which seems counterproductive to trying to get drunk. And so he flags the bartender down. "Another Dark and Stormy, yeah? And keep 'em coming."

Whatever Sparrow whispered has Cristobal's eyes narrowing just a hint, a challenge? A bit of confusion? It's hard to tell with how briefly his gaze stays on the line of her face. He's frowning at Joseph's story, stymied from a usual brash response that would bubble out past his thin social filter, further kept at bay with another sip of his beer.

August snorts at Alexander. "Well, I don't think you're that bad. But I'll take 'grounded' as a complimet." He listens to Alexander's description of the saw mill, sighs and shoves a basket of tots at him. "Yeah, we can."

He tilts his head at Cristobal. "All kinds of stuff you can grow up here, especially if you're tending it in a garden. Irises, roses, lilies--no good if you have a cat, though--cosmos..." His attention drifts to a window and settles there, and he goes still, like he's staring at something incredibly important.

Alexander blinks at Joseph's tale. He makes a thoughtful noise. "That sounds interesting. And Itzhak is a good person to find you, if you're lost over There." He leans a little closer to Joseph. "Did you get hurt? Things over there usually hurt." A flicker of a smile towards August. "It was meant as one." The rest, he just listens to, his head turning this way and that to keep track of everyone, his eyes lingering on the bruises at Joseph's throat, in the end. "Was that from it?" Because Alexander never has a problem asking the rude question.

Ruiz chooses this moment to clear his throat quietly, and inform Joe that he's going to fetch another drink, and would he like anything? Regardless of the answer to that question, he's on his feet and moving off with that lazy prowl of his. Fortuitous, perhaps, that his glass decided to be empty at this juncture in the conversation.

Ruiz knows the particular quality of that stillness. He's seen it on him from Vulture's Row, after a landing that nearly had him skidding right off the deck, leaving the plane canted at an unholy angle. The moment where even the code that demands that danger be laughed off and dismissed failed him....and he was left standing, bewildered, even as the deck officers surged past him.

His hands are still on the table, fingers worn from rope and wheel, the drink neglected. Then Alexander's question brings him back to the present, jerks him back into the flow of the conversation. "No. Nothin' there got me. Itz sang to the bear, kinna held it off. Yeah, next time I decide to go bushwhackin' in Tir Na Nog, you can bet I'll hire him as my guide." A shake of his head at the second question...but there's a rising blush.

A glance around for the bartender, before he says to Sparrow, "I promise not to judge. Got no leg to stand on there, some of the stuff I read." To Ruiz, gently, "'nother Horsemen, please."

Sparrow misses a lot of the details of the cross-table interaction, but it's hard not to notice the shifting tone, the way the heftier topics have securely rooted themselves as the center of focus. It keeps her quiet, listening, watching while she sips at her beer. Ruiz's departure holds her focus for a moment, even as her smile resurfaces, as she starts to answer Joe. "Now you got me all curious." By the time she's done, her eyes are back on him, and that bruise, but she makes no comment on it. Or the blush.

August keeps staring out that window. It's pretty clear he's not actually listening to anything anyone else is saying; he's hyperfocused on whatever he saw outside. He gets up from the table, says, "I'll be right back," to Alexander, and moves to the deck doors. No one else is out there, of course, since it's dark and cold. He stands there, listening, watching, waiting. Tense. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he says under his breath.

Alexander does note the blush on Joseph's features at the question. "Oh. Sex." Mystery solved, his attention moves on to August as the other man stands. There's a slight frown, but he nods when he's told that the botanist will be right back. His eyes track him to the deck doors, but he doesn't get up or follow him. Just watches with an unblinking stare.

James receives his drink, takes a sip, and glances around- noticing the crowd at the other table, and August wandering off being weird. He pauses, unsure what's going on there, but his spidey-senses tingling with the potential for fuckery, and so he takes another sip of his drink, a longer one, in case he has to once more display the better part of bravery.

Cris has no such good sense to stay put, because he's patting Sparrow on her flank to let her know she's about to be divested of her seat. "I need a smoke." He declares to her, giving her a quick peck to the cheek before sliding the dregs of his beer onto the table and shifting out from underneath her. "Keep my seat warm." And then he's trundling after August.

Ruiz loiters at the bar a little longer than necessary, to grab the drinks. Ostensibly because he's checking his phone again, but it'd also behoove him to happen to miss the part where Alexander makes that little observation of his.

Eventually he ambles back over with his and Joe's drinks, sets them down, licks some condensation from his thumb as he flops back into his chair. Also, "What the fuck's Roen doing?" Never mind that mention of a smoke has him jonesing something fierce. He stays put, for now.

Sparrow's eyes roll as she issues a flat smirk when Cris gives her that kiss to her cheek on her way up from his lap. Like she knew he wasn't gonna last long playing furniture. She sinks right back down into the chair like it's hers now, cuz it is, and watches him go as she stakes another pull from her beer. "Doesn't sound like anything good," she replies dryly to Ruiz's question, nevermind who he was actually asking. "Seems like everyone's in a weird space tonight. Prolly shoulda stayed home."

"Yeah, somethin' like that," But Joe's voice is only absent, as he replies to Alexander.

Then Javier's back, and he accepts his drink, carefully. "Looks like he's bird-doggin', to me," Joe says low, blue eyes keen. Distress and embarrassment fading, as does that flush, though it's still banner-bright on his cheeks for a moment, despite the weathering. Watching August, poised....and then his gaze drifts to Cris. "Yeah, I feel like you get enough of us together, mention those kinna things......" But he doesn't specif what, exactly.

"I think he sees something," Alexander tells Ruiz absently. He takes another drink of his beer, and there's the quiet brush of his mind against August's, asking for permission. "I feel pretty normal," he tells Sparrow without looking at her.

"Yeah you think you're real fucking clever, don't you," August murmurs, staring out at the Pacific. He grimaces, realizing he looks like he's acting weird, turns away from the deck doors and shakes his head at Cristobal. "Just some asshole having a laugh," he says. And now it's awkward, since August isn't a smoker, has no smokes on him, and didn't go outside. Just got up and stared out there like a weird person. Well, it's like Alexander said: people just assume you're weird when you're like this. Glimmer makes you an outcast, in one way or another.

Another glance out at the water, then August moves back towards the table, nods at Cristobal to come with. "Come on. Nothing to see."

"Mm," is the sound Javier makes in his throat when Sparrow weighs in on what the fuck August is doing. "So what's with changing your hair?" he enquires of her, settling in with his fresh drink and doing his best to ignore that prickly feeling at the back of his neck. "I'd make a crack about blondes having more fun, except I'm sure you have plenty." A brief, dimpled smile, his smoke-dark eyes gone all hooded as he regards her. There's a brief aside to Joe, too, before he draws a pull of the tequila.

Cristobal gives August a long side-eye as he draws up next to him, then the other man is turning to let him know his assessment of whatever it was that drew his attention. "That so." He says flatly, and then with a slight tick of his eyebrow, he goes ahead and pushes out the doors, "Good. Nothing to see. Will be a boring smoke then."

Alexander blinks when August comes back and says it was nothing, the gentle touch at the edge of his mind falling away. "Oh. Nothing's good, then." Does he believe August? No, not really, but clearly not willing to push it. He takes another drink from the bottle, and looks at Ruiz, then at Sparrow. "It looks nice. The blonde."

"Yeah, well," Sparrow begins on the wake of Joe's answer, but wherever she was going with that, she doesn't get there, letting those two words hang out there without any conclusion. Just another sip of her beer and a curious look toward Alexander. "Pretty sure your normal and my normal are a little bit removed. Which isn't a judgment. Just. I dunno. Different reference points?" Shrug.

Dark brows arch toward pale hair as at the question from Ruiz, grin returning and skewing decidedly left. "First? Redheads definitely have way more fun. And you can tell Nicole I said that. Cuz it's true. Second?" One shoulder lifts in an uneven shrug. "I needed a change." A subtle tilt of her head, a faint rise in her tone suggest there's more to it than that, but it suffices. With a smile toward Alexander, she tells him, "Thanks. I like it, too."

August watches Cris go, suddenly tense and wanting to follow. But he doesn't. He forces himself to stay at the table. "Sorry," he says to everyone. "Just thought I saw someone I knew." He looks directly at Alexander, then Ruiz. "A guy we know who's into lilies." He has a drink of his beer. "But I think he's just messing around, with," he taps a temple, "his power. Not actually here." A brief, warning look for Ruiz of 'please do not run outside with your gun ready to shoot, I just said he's totally not there'.

He hopes. He turns so he can keep an eye on Cris at the deck, just in case. A sidelong glance at Sparrow; the redhead comment makes him smile. "They certainly do," he says around a few tots.

Cris is just...smoking. Occupying himself with checking his phone as he takes long drags off his cancer stick, thumb occasionally moving like he's sending a text, the backlit casting his face in long shadows that dance as his exhaled smoke toys with the light illumination.

"My normal is removed from most people's normal," Alexander tells Sparrow with a shrug. "I know that. It's okay." A brief smile. "But it's nice of you to try not to judge." August's information makes him frown, and reach for the shreds of label. Now they're turning into confetti. "Ah. Yes." A glance at Ruiz, before he says, "We learned more about him. From Isabella's father. Maybe even his name. You might be able to do a background check. If you wanted."

Is de la Vega armed with that mean motherfucker of a P220 he likes to carry around? Why yes, you bet your sweet bippy he is. When August looks at him, he meets the man's gaze evenly over the rim of his glass, and a bristling tension slides through his shoulders at the word lilies. But then Roen gives him that look, and he makes a sound in his throat like a dog who sees a meaty bone sitting right the fuck in front of him, and is being asked not to touch it. "Oh, please," he opts to contribute instead, reaching for a tater tot. "You wouldn't know fun if it walked up and bit your fucking nose off." Then Alexander's remark, and suddenly the amateur investigator is the recipient of a long, hard stare from the cop. "Go on."

Joe goes pokerfaced at that murmured aside, nods gravely. Trying to focus again on the conversation there, listening....but he's got that half-abstracted air, as if having to filter it through a layer of music, or something else. He picks up his glass with a kind of finicking care, sips from it as if he didn't trust himself not to choke on a bigger swig.

Sparrow breathes a quiet laugh for August's commentary on redheads, but her attention is decidedly drifting. She looks from one face to another, lingering a little longer on Joe before looking to Cristobal out on the deck. After another swig of her beer, she pulls her phone out from her hoodie pocket to check the time, check notifications, browse the internet while she eavesdrops on conversation for which she has no context. For the moment, she's just gonna mind her own.

August chuckles, low, almost under his breath. "Oh, wouldn't I," he says on a toothy grin. The expression fades into sympathy for Ruiz not being able to take the revenge he's owed, and some curiosity about what Isabella's father revealed. "Might be able to find out where that hospital I saw is," he adds, "if his employment records are available."

His attention shifts to Joe. "Sorry, I half-heard what you said you ran into over there. Sounds par for the course. It's pretty wild. But Itzhak and I can find something safer, maybe, to show you. If you want."

"Dr. Johannes Wagner," Alexander says. "Worked at a hospital outside of Elma. It's closed, now, but that's probably where you saw, August. He would have had some sort of license to practice. Maybe previous complaints?" He shrugs. "Hard to say, it was a while ago. When Isabella and her brother were eight, and a little earlier than that." He says it all without really looking at Ruiz, his attention instead focused on the confetti he's making.

It looks like something drew a laugh out of Cristobal, the man's shoulders shaking briefly before he takes one last quick drag off his cigarette and ends up flicking the majority of it away. Seems like he only needed a quick nic fix before he's heading back inside. He orders another beer at the bar on his way through, carrying it back to the table. As he rounds around back to reclaim his seat - thank you very much Sparrow - he pauses long enough to give Joseph's shoulder a good squeeze. Did he hit that bruise? Oops.

If August wishes to elucidate, certainly Ruiz won't stop him; his sly smile is as much challenge as invitation. Attention slid back to Alexander, he nods once after the man's spoken. "Wagner. I'll take a look, see what I can find. Might need to ask the FBI for a favour." He doesn't seem bothered by the lack of eye contact; god knows he's accustomed to it, the amount of time he spends around Itzhak. "I don't know how old Isabella is. Give me some years to work with, yeah?"

He blinks himself back into focus, looks at August. "No worries. I think.....I think I'd like that. The more I can learn with help, without runnin' unecessary risk....better the chances I c'n be useful over there. Since I got the sense it's somethin' we all run into in one way or another." But no....there's that distracted look again, like he's trying to parse a conversation in a foreign language. Color returning - maybe he has enough booze in him for that to be the plausible cause.

The more so for that squeeze to his shoulder. It doesn't hit the bruise low on his throat, but it makes him grunt a little. Maybe the joint's tender.

Sparrow looks up from her phone when Cristobal comes in, just long enough to gauge his trajectory before she's back to fussing with one hand while swigging her beer with the other. When Cris gets back, she peeks up, feigning uncertainty about what he might expect from her. But a grin tugs at her lips and she gets up only long enough to let him sit back down. She settles her bottle, nearing empty, on the table and shoves her phone back into her pocket as she reclaims her seat, sinking in against Cris without word.

Alexander does look up at Ruiz as he says he doesn't know how old Isabella is. A blank look at astonishment, like it's unfathomable that someone hasn't memorized every possible fact about Isabella. "Late nineties." A glance at Joseph. "Be careful. Over there. It changes, and it's hard to know what you'll find. I don't understand it very well, but it's usually horrible."

"There's a few spots where its mostly just...interesting, instead of outright murderous." August clears his throat; he realizes 'interesting' doesn't sound safe, either. But it's a step above murderous. "I've been going over to do some experiments, get an idea of how we can determine...what it is. So you're welcome to come with, they're just short jaunts."

He glances between Alexander and Ruiz, frowns. "Place I saw was...older than that, I think." Which gets back to the question of how old the guy is. He arches an eyebrow. "Thinking of going to it?" he asks, sipping from the last of his beer.

He's mid-drink when Joe makes that sound, but it's the pain of the injury August picks up first. So he sees that mark, on Joe's neck. And then he chokes on his beer.

Cristobal's grin has turned positively feral by the time he's looking down at Sparrow's upturned face, but she's moving and he slides back into his seat and helps sit back down with an arm ringing her stomach, holding her a little tighter to his chest then he had been prior. "I wouldn't mind a few lessons myself. In fact Boatswain here suggested I seek you out, Roen." He takes a drink of his chili salt rimmed, lime spiked beer then holds it up for Sparrow if she'd like to try his version of beer for a change.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got a gift with words, Roen?" mentions de la Vega with a slanted look August's way at his use of the word interesting. Nothing's said of this veil experimentation, or the prospect of Joe going along with, though there might be a very slight flinch when it's mentioned. "Late nineties," he confirms, tonguetip skimmed along his teeth thoughtfully. And, "Going to what, precisely?" That's aimed August's way, question chased by a pull of tequila.

Ruiz clearly plans on pretending he didn't see August choke on his beer.

He's trying really hard to focus on August's offer....though Alexander's explanation makes Joe glance that way. "All of it? I mean, are there no fixed points? Can it be mapped? Can we affect how it changes, when it does?" The questions directed between them. No boasting about how he's worked in environments just as hostile - that was with a support team that numbered in the thousands, and with the aid of advanced tech. "What kinna experiments?" The cough only gets August a blank, guileless look.

Then a nod for Cristobal. "I did. I ....you two and Rosencrantz seem to be the local experts?" he offers. Then, belatedly, he's remembering his shot. He knocks it back with the air of a man dosing himself with medicine.

"The hospital? Yes. We're going. Isabella and I. And whoever else wants to come." A glance at Ruiz, then at August. He falls silent at the talk of the Veil, at least long enough to control his immediate urge to shout 'don't go'. But he says, "It might be able to be mapped. Somewhat. Some things seem to correspond to here, over there. But some things change, too. It's dangerous."

Sparrow issues not one little peep. Given that her attention doesn't much shift from a fixed point set nowhere in particular until Cristobal offers up a taste of his beer, one might wonder if she's given up on listening, too. The subtle shift in her expression somewhere around Cris' curiosity and Joe's confirmation thereof might be in response to those remarks, but maybe she's just eyeing the chili salt. Who does this to beer? How weird! Still, she goes right in, taking the glass up and taking a decent-sized sip which leaves her licking at her lips to clear it of the salt... and then taking another sip to then cleanse her tongue. She gives her head a little wobble as the pint's handed back, approving.

August coughs to clear his throat, rubs at his watering eyes. He gives Joe and then Ruiz a look, takes a drink of bear to wash down what he almost aspirated. He nods at Alexander in agreement. "It's dangerous," he says, without a hint of reluctance. "But not knowing also is. I, ah," he waves a hand, "wouldn't call us the local experts. Maybe," he looks askance at Alexander, "the local people who've done more than is really a great idea. Honestly my fiance knows more about it than I do, in the specific sense."

Of the experiments, August says, "Botany, mostly. Tried growing things over there--no dice. Interesting, since we can survive over there fine. For fairly significant periods, apparently. But not plants. Tried a graft," his mouth flattens, "bad idea, just infected a bunch of things. Had to take a bunch of people over to clean it up and we got our asses kicked. But got it done." He has another tot. "Not sure what to do next. Aidan had some ideas."

He nods at Alexander, says, "Happy to come with and help." As in help kick Peregrine's ass. He glances down at his pocket, pulls at his phone and swipes at it. Stares, for several seconds. "Son of a bitch," he whispers. To his credit, the phone doesn't break, and neither does anything else. He swipes out a response. "I gotta go."

Ruiz simply stares at Alexander for a long while, even after the younger man's looked away. Then a sigh, and his cap tugged off again so he can scruff tattooed fingers through the hair at his temples, like he's trying to stave off a headache. "Yeah. I'd like to go." Of course he would. And finish the job he'd started with the fucker. A glance is sent sidelong to Joe, and then he knocks back what's left of his tequila, and observes with idle curiosity as August beats a hasty retreat. Hell if he knows what that's about.

Alexander frowns. "August?" He rarely hears the other man curse, or grow agitated, so his attention is immediately fixed on him. And when August makes his response and his abrupt parting, Alexander rises to his feet. He tosses some money down on the table for his beer. "I'll come with." It's not really an offer so much as it is a statement of fact. Sure, he doesn't know...where...or...why, yet. But he's going.

The pilot's clearly storing all that away for future reference, line of his mouth tight. Though there's the faintest flicker in his eyes, at that look. "Some kinna trouble?" he asks the arborist. Not really a question, when you get right down to it. Holding himself tensed, like he's prepared to follow Alexander's lead. Though god only knows what kind of use he might be, after that confession of ignorance.

Then a seeking look for Ruiz, who doesn't seem to be able to explain it any better.

Cristobal doesn't seem inclined to volunteer for anything just yet, or perhaps he wants to query a little bit more about it before he does, but the opportunity doesn't present itself as the pair seeming to orchestrate this little adventure seem to be quickly packing up and leaving. He accepts the beer back from Sparrow, giving her a little approving squeeze as she doesn't outright spit it out and hoists it up as way of parting for August and Alexander. "Revealing night." Cristobal says with a smirk of a double entendre dropped, before the expression is hid behind the rim of his glass.

Sparrow very much decidedly volunteers for nothing. Not one little thing. She watches August and Alexander leave, like the motion's brought her back to the edges of engagement with the rest of the table. A curious look between Joe and Ruiz follows before she mutters an absent, "Yeah," to Cris. This would be a great time to snag one of the chairs freeing up, but she doesn't move. Not yet. There does seem to be some sort of calculation in her eyes as she goes back to staring at... what? The door now?

Nope, Javier's none the wiser as to what the fuck's crawled up August's ass all of a sudden. Though he seems not at all surprised when Alexander trails on after him. Might be making a mental note to catch up with them later over it, or he might just be pondering another glass of tequila, with that distant look in his eyes. Joe's flickered a mirthless smile, and then he leans in close to the man to say something quietly. And takes his leave of the table, citing: "Necesita un cigarrillo." And then he's off, headed out onto the deck, and the railing that overlooks the docks.

Ruiz also tosses a couple of crumpled bills down to pay for his drink, and Joe's.

Joe just gives Cristobal a faintly rueful look, color reappearing. Then he's knocking off the rest of that drink, and rising. Snagging his coat, though he only stuffs cap and scarf into his pockets. Making no attempt to cover his own bill, for once. "Y'all have a good evenin'," he wishes, gently.

There is a suck against his teeth as Joseph's cheeks flare up, his eyes ticking downward to the collar of the man's shirt as if wondering just how far down that blush is going. Cristobal takes one more drink of his beer, this one in effort to drain most of it because to leave it would be alcohol abuse. "Seems like this party's breaking up." He gives Sparrow a little jostle so she leans over into a kiss he's depositing on her shoulder. "Coming over?"

Sparrow issues a quiet, "Mm," for Ruiz's departure, however momentary his excuse sounds like it might be. When Joe's follows promptly, she doesn't look surprised, tipping a nod his way, no reminder about the literature exchange. They can worry about that later. She's already shoving a hand in her pocket when that kiss comes to her shoulder, just before she pushes to her feet. "Nah," quiet and certain. "But you can come over to mine if you want." Her lips part like there's more to come, but then they close again, and she just looks to Cris for his answer.

"So long as no one's armed." Cris replies drolly, his long standing joke about the fact that she lives with her capital B boyfriend. He shifts to toss his own money to the growing pot on the table, even though he paid for his beer at the bar, it seems he's leaving an ample tip or maybe enough to cover anything that might have accidentally been overlooked as the other's shift out. Then he's reaching to tangle her fingers in hers and head in the opposite direction of the boys, out to the parking lot.